Category Archives: EPIC VERSE

Ode to Gorehowl


Yeah, I know I’m getting this one in a little late, but I had a busy day today. Endless glorious requisition forms with Eitrigg, which again begs the questions, with all my underlings why do I not have one whose job it is to handle the paperwork?

Anyway, here’s today’s entry for Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge. Fill up those comments with ideas and themes and little nuggets of goodness to inspire me again, and we’ll have our next EPIC VERSE next Tuesday.


When I cast eyes upon the glinting steel
Of Gorehowl, gravest axe that e’er was made,
My thoughts return to Grommash’s ordeal
When Mannoroth fell to my father’s blade.
The greatest battle that the blade had known,
In Ashenvale where Demons Fall to fate:
Where Grom exchanged for all our lives, his own,
And plunged Gorehowl though thick infernal plate.
I wonder now if it is worthy held:
Since Grommash fell, the axe has many slain,
But greatest since that time Gorehowl has felled,
In place of bane of blood, ’tis sire of Baine.
     I marvel it, and we, have come so far;
     Yet fear it best had stayed with Malchezaar.




Songs of Innocence and XP


My first product of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge! I ended up deciding that this entry would work better as TWO poems working as a set, rather than one. I’ll be working on something new for Thursday, so be sure to give me suggestions in the comments to this post (and obviously feel free to leave actual COMMENT comments too). So, here we go…


The Dryad

Dryad girl, who made thee?
Do you know who made thee?
Who made thee such damaged goods,
Hugging bunnies in the woods?
Made thee DEHTA’s poster girl,
Snuggling puppies till I hurl?
Filled your head with flowers and fluff,
Blind to when enough’s enough;
Dryad girl, who made thee?
Do you know who made thee?

Dryad girl, I’ll tell thee;
Sister, let me tell thee,
Whosoever, ’twas a dick
Who beat you with that nutjob stick.
Took your love of creatures, heaven,
Dialed it right up to eleven;
Firing my exasperation.
With bosom-clasped concatenation.
Dryad girl, release me.
Shut up and release me.


The Dyad

Dontrag! Utvoch! Deadly dumb,
Endless yapping flapping gums:
What misguided hand or eye
Could frame thy dim stupidity?

By whose diagrams were cast
Your dingy minds, always half-assed?
In what furnace of the dull
Was forged the cogwheels in your skulls?

Whose confounded bright idea
To give you verbal diarrhea?
Strength of thought and length of verse:
That relation is inverse.

Edgewise word was never got,
And no clue have e’er you bought.
Faithful, true, and proud to serve;
But oh the cost: my final nerve.

Rock and hard place, woe the choice
Between yours and the dryad’s voice.
Dammit, I might go with hooves:
The dryad has, but you are boobs.

Dontrag! Utvoch! Deadly dumb!
Headaches rise like pounding drums.
What misguided hand or eye
Would hire thy dim stupidity?




Speaking of EPIC VERSE


So it’s just been brought to my attention that April, in addition to being the cruelest month, is also National Poetry Month. And I realized that it just wouldn’t be right for me to let the month pass without commemorating it somehow, so brace yourself for the big news – AND a call for help from my loyal readers and minions to help make it happen.

So here’s the deal. In honor of National Poetry Month, for the entire month of April, EVERY TUESDAY AND THURSDAY I will post on the blog a brand new original EPIC VERSE! No promises as far as form or length – it might be something long and truly epic, it might be a quick limerick, it might be something in between. But every Tuesday and Thursday in the month of April, I’ll be writing something.

Hold on, though, there’s a catch, because I’m going to need you guys to help make this work. YOUR challenge is to help keep me inspired. What do you mean, Garrosh? EXCELLENT QUESTION, GLAD YOU ASKED. Basically, every poem I post for April will be inspired in some way by YOUR comments here on the blog. Each time I put a poem up, I’ll be inviting all of you to make suggestions for the NEXT poem in your comments – it could be a topic, a theme, a character, a turn of phrase you’d like to see incorporated, something else entirely…ANYTHING you can come up with to get the ol’ poetic gears turning. I’ll pick one of the suggestions from your comments to use as the basis for the next poem. Or…I’ll pick AT LEAST one, because who knows, maybe I’ll get ambitious and try to combine a few of them.

So for the first poem, which I’ll write for this coming Tuesday, I’m going to open up the comments on THIS post for suggestions. Again…you’ve got lots of latitude as far as giving me topics, themes, etc. Get commenting and impress me!

Just to clarify and iterate (NOT “reiterate,” by the way, because “ITERATE” means repeat already, so “REiterate” actually means rerepeat, which is totally a pet peeve of mine because I hate it when people are reredundant), here’s how the process is going to work:

  • You comment on this post with suggestions for poem #1.
  • I write poem #1, based on one (or more) of the comments on this post.
  • You comment on poem #1 with suggestions for poem #2.
  • I write poem #2, based on one (or more) of the comments on poem #1.
  • You comment on poem #2 with suggestions for poem #3.
  • Rinse, repeat, and pray you beat the enrage timer.

So…I’m putting the pressure on myself here, AND putting the pressure on you guys! If I get this going and only get like one half-assed suggestion, well, don’t blame me if I don’t crank out a masterpiece. You know the old saying about making chicken salad out of chicken…something-or-other…or whatever it is because apparently I don’t actually know that old saying. BUT YOU GET MY POINT.


The Awesome League of Awesome


As promised, here’s the result of this latest poll for the newest EPIC VERSE topic. So, with no further ado…BECAUSE YOU DEMANDED IT!


Where to go! What to do!
So much to explore.
Johnny Awesome on the move,
Always seeking more.
          He keeps clearing each zone faster,
          Tanaris, the last one to go:
          Yet another triumph, although
          Thousand Needles was disaster.
Now he’s questing with a reputation to restore.

Garrosh really wants him dead,
Really hates that elf.
Put a bounty on his head,
How he’s by himself.
          Hold your horses, no complaining
          That he screwed up on that last run.
          Magatha, she pulled a fast one
          Now he’s got few friends remaining.
Just because he freed one traitor from the Twilight Shelf.

Johnny Awesome headed north
Flying through the Barrens.
But as he was setting forth
It became apparent
          He had work to do here – rescue!
          Some poor undead rogue was dying:
          Swarmed by quillboar, he was trying,
          But perhaps he merely was new.
Or perhaps dropped on his dead by inattentive parents.

Either way, he needed saving –
Johnny Awesome to the fray!
The undead was smiling, waving,
As the quillboar fled away.
          Johnny Awesome: “My work here’s done.”
          “HI I’M DUMASS!” “Um, okay.”
          “LET’S BE FRIENDS!” “No, go away.”
This was when he realized that he’d have a real long day.

“So, Dumass,” J.A. did say
And fought the urge to kill,
“Why the Barrens?” “OH OKAY!
          “Wait, Dumass, where did you come from?”
          “Tarren Mill was where you were.”
          Blank stare. “Fitting name there, Dum.”
And Dumass just smiled and nodded while his brain stood still.

“Well, I’ll let you travel on,”
Johnny Awesome said.
“…or come with me instead.”
          Johnny Awesome sighed so forlorn.
          “Well then, let’s head to Winterspring.”
          Frosted flake pursues Frostmourne.
“…Let’s just hope that bounty means that soon I will be dead.”

Up to Winterspring they flew,
Seeking thrills and danger.
But Johnny Awesome really knew
That things would just get stranger.
          In the mountains, climbing higher,
          Till they came upon a cave.
          Hiding place of some vile knave?
          Monsters? Dragons breathing fire?
Surely there would be rewards from those they would endanger.

When flying upon a frost wyrm
Came someone he’d seen before:
An orc warrior, hardly infirm,
Landing on a node of ore.
          “OMG THE LICH KING!” Dumass
          Cried out as the orc was mining.
          “Where?” the orc cried, “A defining
          Triumph shall be mine at last!”
Meanwhile Johnny Awesome palmed his face an instance more.

“Huh, no Lich King?” the orc grumbled,
Staring down this elf naysayer.
“Bet he’s hiding,” next he mumbled.
“I am Orkus – the Kingslayer!”
          “Greetings, Orkus—” “HI! I’M DUMASS!”
          “I am Johnny Awesome, sir.”
          Orkus answered, “I’ll infer
          You’re the brains here.” “HI! I’M DUMASS!”
“..Meanwhile I would guess your friend here’s Stupidville’s new mayor.”

Before Johnny Awesome answered,
Skulking out from in the cave
Came a yeti, lone advancer –
No warning or sound he gave.
          “It’s attacking!” “Hurry! Kill it!”
          “OMG! A DRAGON!” “What?”
          No move made the yeti, but
          They smelled blood and they would spill it.
Thus the yeti’s early rise might mean an early grave:

Hardly had the yeti woken,
So he found this a surprise.
His defense was scarcely token,
Looking ’round with sleepy eyes.
          Just the same, the fight took ages.
          None of them could land a blow.
          Swinging, missing, tripping, so
          To give the details would take pages.
So we’ll TL;DR for the poor yeti’s demise.

Finally the yeti stumbled
In a hulking lifeless heap.
Orkus yelled, “Vile beast! Be humbled!
Yeah, that’s right. Don’t make a peep.”
          “Hey, you know, this has me thinking,”
          Johnny Awesome said at last.
          “We sure kicked that yeti’s ass
          (Even granted I’ve been twinking),
If we stayed a team, just think the benefits we’d reap.”

“YAY! I HAVE TWO FRIENDS!” said Dumass.
Not suspecting they might toss ’im.
“As a group,” said Orkus, “en masse,
No more fleeing or playing possum!”
          Johnny Awesome nodded, beaming:
          “We could take the world by storm!”
          “Wipe out every beastly swarm!”
          “End all villains’ evil scheming!
Look out, Azeroth, here comes the Awesome League of Awesome!”

“Just one thing,” said Orkus, “Any
Chance you’ve got a healing spec?
I took a few hits there – well, many.”
“Sorry, no.” “Eh, what the heck.
          It can wait till we get going
          Back to town, and heal up there.”
          “Let’s go. Soon, evil beware!”
          Johnny Awesome’s pride was glowing.
And the trio gathered up to start their homeward trek. 

Off they marched with scarce attention
To a shadow in the sky:
Far beyond their apprehension
What was coming, much less why.
          Down upon them swooped a wyvern!
          “En garde!” “Fight him off!” “YES SIR!”
          Now go get ’im, Mortimer!
          Alas, though, he did not discern
Who was who correctly when he landed his bullseye.

“I’ve got aggro!” Orkus bellowed.
But before they could decide
How to help him, he was mangled:
Down he went and there he died.
          “It got Orkus! Kill it!” Johnny
          Awesome yelled, but not in time.
          Mortimer did swiftly climb
          Into the air, and then was gone.
And from nowhere, “YAY! WE KILLED THE LICH KING!” Dumass cried.




Odds and ends


Nothing too major going on today, so I figured I’d just update on a few random things. I’ll be honest, too, I just haven’t gotten around to looking through the mail yet, so we’re going to hold off on a mailbag for now. I know, I know, don’t worry, I’ll get one posted soon.

Some of you might remember a ways back when this kid Gurtash wrote in to the mailbag and I agreed to let him help out taking care of Mortimer. I haven’t mentioned him since then, but man, the kid’s been hanging around here all the time. He’s a nice enough kid, don’t get me wrong, he’s just always in the neighborhood. Turns out that was kind of handy, since he was able to help take care of Mortimer a lot while I was out of commission a couple months ago (well, until Mortimer flew off, but that’s a whole other story). Anyway, Mortimer seems to have taken a shine to him too, so lately rather than letting him hover around Grommash Hold, I’ve been letting him “walk” Mortimer – by which I mean take him out for a ride on the pretense of getting him his daily exercise. Of course, Gurtash really doesn’t have the foggiest idea about riding, so it’s really more like Mortimer taking HIM for a walk. Which it pretty much is. But like I said, he keeps the kid busy, and he seems happy enough with it.

In other news… There’ve been a good number of votes so far for my next EPIC VERSE – if you haven’t yet, make sure you get your vote in. I’ll give it a few more days before I call an end to the voting and settle on a topic.

Also, it occurred to me that the last few days while I’ve been talking about the guild I’m forming on Earth Online, I forgot to mention the name I’m giving it. In a way, in fact, we’ve got Manageurdeath to thank for this – since he was all “Oh yeah, sure you’re Garrosh, oh yeah, right, uh huh, you’re the Warchief,” guess what we’re calling this guild?

You guessed it.


Personally I think that’ll actually look kind of cool over my head, gotta say.




Not a lot of mail this week, so I’m going to hold off on doing a mailbag for today. In the meantime, though, I thought I’d toss out yet another of my GENIUS READER PARTICIPATION EVENTS. This one went over pretty well the last time I did it, and it’s been a while since I treated you all to one of my masterpieces, so here we go again: vote below to pick the theme of my next brilliant and inspiring EPIC VERSE!


Monday mailbag


Short break from the ongoing business in Silithus and Ferelas and Dustwallow and wherever the hell I’m going to end up getting stuck going to next, to answer some mail…


Dear Garrosh Hellscream, Warchief of the Horde;

I just wanted to thank you for kindly taking the time out of your busy schedule to spread some cheer at the orphanage this Winter’s Veil. The children were so thrilled to meet Greatfather Winter in person and to receive their new toys. There is so little excitement in their daily routine, and they have so very few possessions, that this event made a huge impression on them. Many are still talking about it to this day.

Of course, some of the older children realize that it was not really Greatfather Winter delivering their presents; however, they were quite touched to see that the Warchief himself has not forgotten them, the Horde’s smallest and most vulnerable citizens. I have informed these older children about the existence of your blog, so you may notice a slight increase in your readership.

Thank you once again, and may you have a very happy New Year.

–Orphan Matron Battlewail.

Some of you might have remembered last week that Eitrigg had gotten me to “volunteer” to play Greatfather Winter at the Orgrimmar orphanage (read: he went ahead and fucking told them I was going to do it without actually asking me, then played the honor-your-commitments and set-an-example-for-keeping-your-word-for-the-kids cards on me). A lot of you have probably seen this already, but @_Rades over at Orcish Army Knife somehow managed to get a picture of the spectacle too, so that might be worth a peek if you really don’t want to let me get away with any dignity.

Anyway, though… I guess it’s good that the kids felt like someone was looking out for them, even if a lot of them ARE a bunch of snot-nosed little brats. (And to think Thrall actually wants to be a dad, too… I’ll tell you right now, I am NOT looking forward to playing Uncle Garrosh at those get-togethers.)


Dear Warcheif,

My name is Gurtash, and I’m 13 years old. I live in Orgrimmar at the orphinage. My mom was sick and died after leaving the enterrnment camps. My dad died in battle in Northend fighting scorge. He was very brave and taght me to live with honor. I am going to be a warrior to like my dad and you.

Matron Battlewhale showwed me your blog it is very good. I love wyverns and Mortimer is the best! I seen you fly him before. My dad said I could have wyvern when I’m older but he died. Can i help you take care of Mortimer? I will feed him and brush him and clean his stall and talk to him. Maybe you could give me some sillver for helping or not that’s ok to. Let me know ok. Thanks.

Flying in the sky
Someday I’ll fly as high
Mortimer on the wing
Faster than anything
Loyal to the end
Protecting his friend
So dont start a fight
He will end it right.



Uh oh, here we go. Well, I guess Battlewhale— erm, I mean, Battlewail did warn me.

Wait, this kid’s dad died fighting the Scourge in Northrend? But that would mean…oh crap.

So, Gurtash, I um…yeah, I’m sorry about your folks, but it’s good to hear you want to be a brave warrior of the Horde like your dad. Lucky for you we do have some really good trainers here in Orgrimmar, so make sure you listen to them once you’re a little older and you get to go down to the Valley of Trials. And make sure you eat lots of meat to build your strength. I know a lot of grownups are going to try pushing the vegetables on you, and they’re fine if you can choke them down, I guess, but trust me on this, you’re going to want a lot of protein for muscle. Pork, steak, bacon – dude, you cannot possibly get enough bacon – tastes great and great FOR you! Take it from your Warchief.

Also gotta say, you win points for the epic verse (no caps here because it’s kind of EPIC VERSE! junior edition in this case). Keep up the poetry, and just remember, don’t let anybody give you any crap about it. Somewhere along the line, some smartass is probably going to try to make some wisecracks about you writing poetry, but don’t listen to them. In fact, the best way to handle it is to just let them yammer on, let them take their best shot, and then take YOUR best shot back, ideally by beating the living shit out of them. I mean the living crap. I’m not supposed to say “shit” to you, am I, right? Fuck. DAMMIT, I did it again! Forget both of those. (AND DO NOT TRY ASKING MATRON BATTLEWAIL WHAT THE SECOND ONE MEANS. THAT IS AN ORDER!! Whew.)

Anyway, Gurtash, Mortimer DOES take a lot of time and attention, not that I really mind, but a little help on busy days or when I have to be away from Orgrimmar might be handy, come to think of it. I’ll see about bringing you over to Grommash Hold for a visit and see if we can set something up…just watch the talons until he gets used to you! Seriously. Wyverns are cool and all, but until they decide they can trust you, they don’t take any crap from anyone. If you do a good job with him, who knows, maybe next Winter’s Veil there might be a stray wyvern cub flapping around needing a home. Who knows?


That’s it for today. Tomorrow I’ll have a more newsy post up, since I know a lot of you are just waiting with bated breath to hear what my brilliant idea is about the Twilights.


Mortimer vs. the Razza


Since I kind of promised to fill in the details yesterday of Mortimer’s role in my showdown with Skarr, I figured I’d take a minute today to do that. And considering what a kickass job Mortimer did of it, too, I figure there’s only one appropriate form…


Skarr went off to Feralas on a mission for the cult,
With the hope an ogre relic could raise Cho’gall as result,
And he made his camp in secret while his agents ranged afield,
And he waited there to reap the gains their search would surely yield.

His mission was a secret, details shared with precious few;
Even where he’d made his base was known by only one or two.
So when they went to see him, hardly had they neared his lair
When their path was intercepted by the Razza in the air.

Its wingspan was enormous, dozen yards across at least,
And one hardly could imagine how Skarr’d tamed the vicious beast;
But he somehow bent its will to his, this hunter sans compare,
And the Lower Wilds were now watched by the Razza from the air.

He’d lived there long amid the Wilds and Dire Maul and therein,
And his terror was the stuff of tales told by the Woodpaw kin,
For when the primitives would hunt, they’d fear not wolf or bear,
But they’d tread in dread that they might see the Razza in the air.

So now when Skarr set up his camp, he’d have the Razza spy
Down upon all those who dared come near from vantage of the sky;
And any who approached the camp was spotted unaware,
Then swoop and clutch, away were swept by Razza in the air.

And so when Garrosh found him and descended from the cliff,
Skarr engaged the orc in battle with an air of “Yeah, as if.”
For he knew he needed only hold his ground and keep it close,
Till the Razza could arrive, and then it would be adios.

Skarr held his own as best he could, and scored a hit or two,
When in the skies his eyes did spy vast wings of white and blue;
And Garrosh knew the day was his, until to his chagrin
He found a wild chimaera clawing wildly at his skin.

The Razza swooped in close to strike, and spewed blue fiery breath,
And let aloose a fiendish shriek from both its beastly heads.
And Garrosh felt the blue flames as he took another hit,
And they didn’t hurt, but it was hard to see through all that shit.

Now Skarr attacked reenergized and pressed the battle on,
And Garrosh ceded ground while he kept being flamed upon.
When suddenly there came a growl—Skarr scarcely realized where—
As wyvern talons tore into the Razza in the air.

Blue wings were met with brown as they raced in as if a blur,
And Garrosh yelled victoriously, “Go get ’im, Mortimer!”
He didn’t need to tell him twice: of wyvern wrath beware!
And Mortimer let loose upon the Razza in the air.

His biting was a frenzy and his slashing claws were fluid,
For “The Razza” say the Woodpaw, but “Mortimer” quoth the druid;
Another slash with furious claws, another vicious tear;
And blood was on the ground beneath the Razza in the air.

A blue-white wing was torn to shreds, a horn shattered like glass;
The Razza wailed as Mortimer was handing him his ass.
He yanked him back and clawed him deep, and clutched him from behind
And clawed at one of his two heads till it was rendered blind.

The desperate Razza spun around and flung Mortimer wide,
The wyvern crashing awkwardly into the mountainside;
He sprawled in pain on aching back, his upper hand upstaged,
And the Razza saw its final chance, and dove in feral rage.

The chimaera shrieked murd’rously and fell upon its prey,
While Mortimer grasped panicked for the one that got away.
A slashing, tearing pair of claws, and fangs fresh-drenched with blood,
Then a horrifying wail, followed by a lifeless thud.

Now somewhere in Feralas, Twilight cultists gloat and preen,
While the Grimtotem and ogres share the tales of what they’ve seen.
But the hunter is the hunted, predator is prey instead,
And there is no joy for Skarr, son, ’cause the Razza’s fucking dead.




The story so far


I don’t know what’s wrong with you people. Everybody seemed overjoyed to see the kind of bullshit agony I had to endure the other day with Garona and Johnny Awesome and all the rest of it. Fuck, if I didn’t know better, I’d think maybe you people didn’t love your Warchief!

Anyway, Garona and I are getting ready to head off to go looking for that ogre Skarr, but while I’m getting squared away here at the inn, I thought I’d take care of some blog stuff. For one, I know the last couple days I’ve been getting a batch of new readers, between the Twitter feed and getting links passed around, so I figured it might be a good idea to try to catch up any newcomers to the blog.

First of all, if you ARE new, welcome! Lok’tar! Good to have you here. Unless you’re Alliance. In which case, DAMN YOU TO THE NETHER, FUCKERS. But meh, keep reading. What the hell.

Second, Spazzle recently added an About page to the blog, with some general info and background type stuff for anyone new. I know he usually tries to be good about setting up my posts with links to older ones that are relevant for background, but y’know, he’s just a goblin, so I’m sure he misses some stuff here and there. Also along those lines, I figured this might be a good time to step back and run through what’s been going on for our many new readers, seeing as this ogre business has been unfolding for a while:

A few weeks back, Grimtotem raiders in Dustwallow Marsh and Feralas started attacking ogres. I could care less about the Gordunni ogres, mind you, but it was a much bigger deal that they were also hitting the Stonemaul ogres too, who have been allied with the Horde for a while.

I sent Dontrag and Utvoch to Brackenwall Village to help Krog with his investigation. Using some…um…pro bait-and-trapping, the bunch of them were able to capture a Grimtotem raider, and interrogated him with help from me and the ogre seer Draz’Zilb. Wait, what am I talking about, “with help from”? They hardly did a damn thing during the interrogation. It was pretty much all me and Draz’Zilb.

Anyway, Draz’Zilb used some FUCKING SCARY-ASS voodoo mojo shit on the Grimtotem, and we got the story. The Grimtotem discovered that the Twilight’s Hammer want to use an ogre relic to resurrect Cho’gall. Apparently, while he was holding a gathering of ogres in Feralas a few months back, Cho’gall imbued a phylactery with his spirit (or part of it, or whatever…don’t ask me how this raise-the-dead stuff works…personally I’m getting sick of all the “Bastion of Twilight was just a setback” bullshit already). Now the Twilights are trying to find the phylactery, and the Grimtotem are trying to beat them to it. According to the prisoner, they believe if they find it first, they can cut some kind of deal with the Twilights to regain their lost holdings.

The Twilight’s Hammer believe one of the ogre clans in Feralas or Dustwallow have the phylactery, so the Grimtotem have been raiding the Gordunni and Stonemaul ogres to try to track it down. High-ranking members of the tribe have been sent to both areas to coordinate, but if you ask me this whole plan has Magatha written all over it.

We know the Stonemaul ogres don’t have the phylactery, but we’re letting the Grimtotem keep thinking they might so they keep their attention divided. Meanwhile, I recalled Garona Halforcen from Twilight Highlands, and she and I headed out to Feralas to investigate. I got some information from a Twilight’s Hammer cultist in the southern ogre camps, and Garona confirmed the story from a Twilight run-in of her own up at Dire Maul: the main Twilight contact in the area is an ogre named Skarr, who’s taken up hiding somewhere in the Lower Wilds.

Garona and I met up at the Steam Pools to compare notes and plan our next step. We also met this blood elf named Johnny Awesome while we were there, which was good for comic relief, if by “comic relief” you mean “makes you want to stick a sharp stick through your eye, into your brain, and swirl it around.” Now we’re about to split up to go after Skarr. With any luck we can find him and get more pieces to fall into place.

So…that’s where we stand now. Next time you hear from me, odds are I’ll be out in the Feralas wilds somewhere trying to track down Skarr. In the meantime, a little nugget to hold everyone over:


There once was a blood elf named Johnny,
Who thought himself ever so bonny.
To get him off my hands
I sent him to Ghostlands
Where he could annoy the Amani.



Updates soon. Stay tuned.



[Header image provided by Rioriel from Postcards From Azeroth, reproduced here with permission and many thanks. Click here to see the souped-up Postcard version!]


Argent Gossip Girl


At long last, a little something for you to enjoy while I go look into matters in Feralas.  My latest creation, BECAUSE YOU DEMANDED IT!


High Argent Confessor,
They call me that these days.
Once I was just Paletress,
No difference either way:
Just a simple Elwynn girl
Who joined the Argent Dawn;
I heard what would await me,
And baby, I was gone.
Truth is, I was not inspired
By service to the Light;
Nor did loathing of the Scourge
Compel me to the fight.
But to be a confessor?
To hear folks’ guilt and hurt?
I’ll comfort countless weary souls—
And hear some juicy dirt!
Confessions are in secret,
But wine is like truth serum;
And since you’re buying, between us,
I guess that you could hear ’em.

* * * * *

Mighty Warchief of the Horde,
Thrall: admired, revered, adored.
Blue-eyed orc,
Still a dork,
Way too straight and narrow.
Goody-two-shoes to the last:
Too few scandals in his past;
Worth adoring,
But so boring!
Straight A’s at Caer Darrow. 

You should have some better stories,
Tales of blood and rage and glory!
Not a one?
You’re no fun.
Such wasted potential!
Green skin marked by fiendish fel stream;
Kill a pit lord, raise some Hellscream,
Drink and brawl,
Listen, Thrall,
You need badass credentials!

You’re a mighty shaman, true,
But people won’t be scared of you
When as bad
As you’ve had
Is library past-due.
Kick some ass and take some names.
Give me something; this is lame.
Clark Kent, drat.
(Wait, who’s that?)
Green, but you can work blue.

To be fair, such trials to weather,
You had to have your shit together.
Freed the clans,
Fought the man,
Birthright to reclaim, huh?
Maybe memory’s mildly muddy
From being Saurfang’s drinking buddy?
But if not,
Well, nice thought.
At least, hey, you banged Jaina.

* * * * *

Where’ve you been?
Hiding with the Frostborn.
Tale belied:
Thought you’d died
When the prince found Frostmourne.
Pain and grief,
Such relief
To know that you’re not dead.
Slick respawn:
Mem’ries gone
From when you bonked your head.

At least that’s what you tell them now.
Cover story?  Yes, and how.
You come to me
To unburden your spirit.
Really you just wanted out
From all the guilt and fear and doubt;
Plagued your mind,
What they’d find
And what they’d do to hear it.

Back when Moira went away
Dragged to BRD, they say.
Was the man,
At least you let them think.
Now she’s joined the Dark Iron coven,
Little dwarf bun in the oven,
But forsooth,
Want the truth?
You’d better grab a drink.

Bronzebeard scandal – yeah, you guessed it.
You two went and straight incest’d it.
Yes you did.
Dagran’s kid?
That tale is kind of fishy.
She went hiding in the depths
While you by arctic winds were swept:
Better dead
Than inbred,
Except you’re not that squishy.

What a sin!
Knocking up your niece.
When he grows,
Has twelve toes:
A conversation piece.
So reviled,
Punishment exquisite:
Chaste you’ve kept
(Well, except
When Jaina came to visit).

* * * * *

Tirion the Argent Highlord!
Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.
Truth be told, I cannot afford
Losing this job; so do I dare
Spill the beans on Fordring?  Listen—
When we blab, he takes our heads off.
But I see the wine glass glisten—
Top it off once and all bets off.

Just a little more,
Pour it to the brim.
Here’s what you came for:
All the dirt on him.

Holy Light, that man’s insane!
Really, you would never guess it.
Hunting penguins with a cane—
Half the time he’ll even bless it.
Every day he staggers in
Angry-drunk and spewing rage.
Let him spot you, he’ll begin
To curse you out and act deranged.

Did I tell you what he did
The one time Eadric raised his voice?
Let’s just say he can’t have kids:
Eadric’s not “the Pure” by choice.
He steadfastly will refuse
To dine without his lucky mittens;
Mention Arthas, blow his fuse,
And he’ll go set fire to kittens.

If you are a lass
Don’t give him the chance
To grab at your ass.
(He won’t let me wear pants.)

I love the stories that I hear,
All the scandals, sleaze, and strife;
But I swear with Tirion near
I honestly fear for my life.
He’s unstable, he’s a loon,
Loud and lewd with vices diffuse.
Hunting Scourge and hunting poon:
Talk to Jaina.  (Daddy issues…)

* * * * *

Honored heir of House of Wrynn,
Varian, where to begin?
Stormwind’s king,
Touchy thing:
Temper, temper, sire.
First Cathedral of the Light,
Robs the coffers, then takes flight.
Just you wait,
Off’ring plate:
Empty.  Yep, it’s dire.

Why so angry?  Why destroy
The Church he’d served as altar boy?
Years ago,
Don’t you know,
Reading age for Highlights:
Benedictus, pastor then,
Spotted one young Varian,
Oh so sad,
Showed the lad
An early Hour of Twilight.

Ever since then, he’s been damaged;
Bloody miracle he managed
To perform
So was born
A son to House of Wrynn.
Don’t know how hard Tiffin tried;
Virginal king since she died.
Jaina?  Nay.
That fine day
Was saved for Anduin.

(Fuck you, Varian.)

* * * * *

No more wine?
Okay, fine.
No more stories, then!
Change your mind?
Till next time!
I’m sure we’ll meet again.

When you pour,
I’ll tell more.
No need to make a fuss.
But don’t fear,
Jaina dear,
That weekend’s between us.